


At What Cost

by SilverWitchScripts



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Eventual Romance, Eventual Smut, F/F, F/M, Game Spoilers, Implied/Referenced Sexual Assault, M/M, Modern Girl in Thedas, Multi, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-24
Updated: 2017-11-09
Packaged: 2019-01-22 14:18:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,084
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12483576
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SilverWitchScripts/pseuds/SilverWitchScripts
Summary: Have we traveled through lands more remote than these? We must have. Yet I've never felt so removed from life back home as I do now…-From an aged journal found in the Frostback Basin (Codex Entry: At What Cost)Pulled from one dimension into another in the blink of an eye, Arya Lavellan must find a way to reconcile her knowledge of the universe she recognizes with the reality she sees before her.  Will her foresight be a blessing, or a curse?Alternate universe where the Inquisitor hails from a dimension in which the events of the Dragon Age games are just that: games. Possessing all of the knowledge that these games entail, she soon comes to realize that knowledge can be just as deadly as ignorance.





	1. Lands More Remote Than These

**Author's Note:**

> Have we traveled through lands more remote than these? We must have. Yet I've never felt so removed from life back home as I do now…"At what cost?" T. asked me that once. I said it costs nothing, but I don't know. I met a man who'd fought longer than I, but his mind had faded with age, and he could not answer. The point remains that I can do more. I can be more effective. We've all seen the demons, what they did. We've seen what some would do with blood. The better question is, who pays the cost if no one takes this chance?
> 
> -From an aged journal found in the Frostback Basin (Codex Entry: At What Cost)

I blink once. Water, shallow and clear, dances before my eyes. It is beautiful, strange…mesmerizing.  But dangerous; far more dangerous than anything I have ever encountered. I know, instinctually it seems, that to touch the surface of this water would mean my end, yet I cannot help but be drawn to it. I blink twice. What I first thought was water has now coalesced into a gigantic mirror, silently towering over me as a parent would a child. The compulsion to touch it is now overwhelming, and my feet begin to move forward of their own accord. I blink thrice. A voice, crisp yet distant, reverberates through the mirror. I cannot comprehend the words, but they speak to me all the same, making their meaning plain; _If offered vengeance, would you take it?_

I pause to think, the question floating through my mind as I gaze into the eyes of my own reflection. After an hour, or a year, or possibly even a heartbeat, I lean into the mirror, my lips barely brushing its undulating surface as I whisper,

“Yes.”

I close my eyes.

And the whole world shatters.

A shudder, a gasp, and a cry of pain accompanied by the excruciating feeling of electrocution. Running, fast, as though in a dream, I cannot move fast enough, my legs are like rubber as I stumble forward. Despite the consuming fear griping me it feels...familiar. Like an old haunt revisited...like a joke gone wrong. What is this place...and who _is_ she, for someone else shares this fear and pain and I cannot reach her, cannot save her. She is going, going, going...

* * *

Oh, good God, what _happened_? As I raise my head to look around, a sharp jab of pain takes the opportunity to manifest itself behind my left eye. Ah, _another_ headache. As the pain shoots from my temple to my jaw—good _God_ —I raise my hand to investigate the guilty area. This headache is particularly painful...Did I fall? Or perhaps I finally succumbed to the sheer exhaustion that has been plaguing me lately. This line of thought becomes completely irrelevant as I promptly smack my nose on something _very_ hard and _very_ unwelcome in my effort to rub my painful temple. “Okay, _ow_ , definitely not what I meant to do, what in the absolute _hell_...” I freeze. I had thought, for the briefest moment, that I had hit myself with my keyboard—it would not be the first time—after falling asleep at my desk. This idea was, however, immediately disproven as I realized that my keyboard is not made of _metal_. “Metal...” I mumble stupidly as my fingers fight to touch it, to examine this object, whatever it was, but the stupid thing moves _with_ my hands. “Oh for the _love_ of….” I groan, exasperated and, after struggling for a moment, I finally have the good sense to pull both of my hands up in front of my eyes to better examine this _dumb_ thing. “What the...that's not...I can't... _what_...I'm not, I can't be...are these _shackles_?! Am I _shackled_?!”

I immediately become uneasy. Not exactly fearful, but a far cry from calm and collected. Can these honestly be shackles?! Really, I wouldn't even know where to _get_ a pair of iron shackles, much less someone who actually _uses_ them. Now that _is_ an unpleasant thought... Where the hell am I?! I look around properly for the first time, and what I see does not ease my nerves; Dingy, weak light spurts from torches in brackets on either side of a heavy, barred door. There are cells to the left and right of where I lay, apparently thrown unceremoniously in the middle of a grimy floor; a dungeon. _I...am in a dungeon_. And shackled, no less. Now I truly begin to panic. Bile rises in my throat as I think to call out for help. But who will hear me? Judging from the lack of natural light and the dirt walls that surround me, I am underground. At this morbid thought, I laugh. I actually laugh, in the middle of all of this. That I would be kidnapped—for I would not have _willingly_ come here and allowed myself to be shackled—and brought to some medieval dungeon, presumably by some madman, is just so _typical_ of my luck. As I sigh quietly, coming out of laughter and into seriousness again, a sharp pain radiates through my left arm. Again, that feeling of electrocution. But I thought I dreamed that... A bright flash of green accompanies the pain during a second surge and I turn my head slowly, inexorably, toward the light...

Taking a deep, shaking breath, I look down.

“Oh, no. Absolutely _not_. I am _dreaming_ , that is it. I am dreaming. This cannot _possibly_...”

My incoherent mumbling is broken as the heavy door flies open with a resounding crash, and two women enter. A faint buzzing begins in my ears and my vision blurs.

“Oh my God.”

It's _them_.

There they stand, wildly commanding and silently domineering, fire and ice, the Right and the Left. And suddenly my entire world comes alive as Cassandra begins to circle me.

“Tell me why we shouldn't kill you now.”

Oh my God...wait, what do I say?! Shit! This is the worst possible situation I could have...but wait, is this really like the game, or is it just an illusion of reality? Could she actually _kill_ me if I answer wrong? Oh God, I am _definitely_ going to die. And in a dungeon of all places.

“The conclave is destroyed. Everyone who attended is dead.” Cassandra's voice breaks here; I notice it every time I begin a new play through. But this time, I am far too distracted by the prospect of eminent death to feel sympathy for her. I had no idea of the fear she could instill in people just by _looking_ at them. It really was terrifying.

“Except for you.”

I am dumbstruck. I can do nothing except sit there, like an _idiot_ , with my mouth hanging open. Cassandra is not impressed.

“Explain this,” she says as she grabs my left hand, the one with the mark on it. It flickers angrily again before she finally releases it.

“I...”

How much should I reveal? If this _is_ real, if I am actually here—and even that I am not yet _entirely_ convinced of—I can't just tell her the truth...can I? Surely, she would behead me immediately, accuse me of consorting with demons. There is no way she would believe any of what I tell her. The only person who might actually believe me without question is Solas and there is absolutely _no way_ I would tell him what I know. He would kill me himself. Or wipe my memory, if such a thing were possible. Is it? That doesn't matter right now, what matters is I am surrounded by two very deadly women who believe I am a threat to all Thedas and will not hesitate to kill me if I prove myself such.

Wait, there are _two_ women here, not just Cassandra alone... _Leliana_. Leliana might be persuadable. I certainly know enough secrets about her from the other games to convince her of my knowledge, but she may think me a spy and kill me anyway. Then again, I can't just sit here let Cassandra glare daggers at me until she finally impales me just to have done with it. If only I could have some time to think, to process this and piece it all together.  But time is a luxury I do not have.

Seemingly in reaction to this thought, Cassandra shouts an accusatory, “SPEAK!” in my direction, causing me to start. That wasn’t ever in the game, was it? I have played this game enough times to know each word by heart, and I am sure I have never heard those words from Cassandra; at least not in this moment.  A horrible thought manifests itself, growing and festering in the back of my mind until I can no longer ignore it: Time. Even now, even with Cassandra’s one word, my silence is changing Time itself.  A whole myriad of terrible possibilities occur to me as I process this fact. The future I create from my action or inaction could result in a timeline far worse than the one I know. Holy shit, what the _hell_ do I do?!

“Calm down immediately!”

I resignedly raise my head to face Cassandra, wondering what has caused her to shout this time, when I see the snow.

“Oh, hell no…”

It snows a good 6 inches before I finally realize that I am the one causing it to happen. Soft, cool tendrils of magic are flowing through my fingers from hands still clapped in irons. It is as though my hands have suddenly acquired the ability to taste. The feel of fresh, cool mint seeps into my fingers as I gaze at them in wonder.

“I am a mage…”

“It appears so.” Says Cassandra, clipped and wary.  “Kindly desist, if you would.”

“Desist? What…oh!” I blush scarlet at this lack of control.  At once, the snow disappears.  And I begin to laugh. Out of stress, and fear, and the absurdity that I can suddenly produce snow out of thin air, and this whole fucked up situation. I laugh so hard tears come to my eyes.

“YOU THINK THIS IS A GAME?!” roars Cassandra, and I suddenly feel the cool edge of a blade at my throat. My laughter stops immediately.

“We need her Cassandra!” Leliana finally interjects, as she pulls Cassandra off me. 

Interesting; the dialogue is somehow back on track.  Does that mean that these events are inevitable? That is not a cheery thought. Or is it? But I don’t have time to deliberate this now, I barely even have time to make a decision. For now, there would be no harm in playing along, would there? Just play it safe until after the rift under the breach is closed and then have a nice long chat with Leliana.  Yes, I can do that.  There’s nothing ground breaking about the decisions that I have to make up to that point. Okay, that’s what I’ll do. 

As soon as I come to this decision, a wave of light rolls off me laterally until it dissipates at the dungeon’s edge. Everyone standing is knocked down in its wake as the wave rolls over them.  The resulting pileup of people takes a few minutes to untangle.

“What in the Maker’s name was that?” asks Cassandra, after she is back on her feet.

I think fast, eyes searching around the dungeon for an explanation. 

“I think it was the mark,” I say in a small voice, hoping it will pacify both women. The last thing I want them to think is that I used defensive magic on them.

Leliana, seemingly fed up with my lack of answers, now steps in front of Cassandra.

“Do you remember what happened? How all of this began?” she asks, eyes narrowed.

And now I struggle to remember exactly what to say, and when to say it. If I can remember the dialogue correctly, then maybe I can get out of here alive.

“I remember lots of green light and…being chased by…things.  I don’t know what they were, but I wouldn’t invite one home to meet the parents, ya know?” I chuckle awkwardly.  Neither woman is amused.  _Tough crowd_. Leliana’s eyes narrow to mere slits.

“Anyway,” I hasten to finish, “there was a woman with me, and she was in trouble too but I…I couldn’t grab her.  It was like running though sand; I couldn’t move properly. I thought it was a dream.”

Well so much for sticking to the script, that was a load of utter gibberish. Where the hell did _that_ come from?

“A woman?” asks Leliana, in that beautiful accent of hers.  Really, it sounds so lovely.

“Yeah, a woman.  I couldn’t save her though.  I’m sorry,” I say, feeling guilty.  Of course I know who the woman is, and what she means to the two of them, and I know I couldn’t have saved her.  But I still feel for their loss, knowing that the woman in which these two put all their faith was sacrificed instead of me.

“Go to the forward camp, Leliana,” says Cassandra, finally taking her eyes off me. “I will take her to the rift.”

Leliana nods once, then turns with prompt efficiency and marches out the door as Cassandra leans down to unshackle me. 

“Are you alright?”

The words tumble out of my mouth before I can stop them, before I can even consider their ramifications.

Cassandra looks taken aback. “I…” she clears her throat, “…am adequate. Do not concern yourself.”

“It’s just, the Divine’s death was terrible.  I’m…sorry for your loss.” I mumble, careful not to make eye contact.

Cassandra clears her throat once again and pulls me to my feet. My hands are now bound in rope rather than irons and it is marginally more comfortable. I am led out of the chantry, Cassandra’s right hand on my arm. I take a deep breath and brace myself mentally for the sight of the breach and the cries of the hostile crowd rallying outside, praying that the situation is less desperate than I remember.

* * *

It is far worse than I could have imagined. There are hundreds, perhaps thousands of people running about Haven, caring for the sick, fetching water, running supplies to soldiers.  The wounded lie in rows along the road, the smell of their sickness and injury nearly causing me to retch as I emerge into the weak sunlight, tinted green by the light from the breach. 

 “Oh my God,” I whisper as the breach comes into full view.  It is monstrous, larger even than the mountain on which Haven sits, its depths extending into complete nothingness. I look at Cassandra, horror stricken, as I finally become aware of the full weight of my situation.

“We call it the Breach,” she intones, barely able to keep the sadness out of her voice.  “It’s a massive rift into the world of demons that grows larger with each passing hour. It’s not the only such rift, just the largest.  All were caused by the explosion at the conclave.”

“Good God this is…I never imagined…It’s _huge_ …” I sputter, hoping against hope that this is an elaborate dream brought on by sleep deprivation.

“Unless we act, the Breach may grow until it swallows the world,” Cassandra continues relentlessly, overpowering my babbling with her commanding tone.

“Ya know, I don’t think that was melodramatic enough there Cass, could you maybe kick it up a notch? Just so we’re all clear on the situation,” I say sarcastically before I can filter my words, forgetting to whom I am speaking.  Before Cassandra can recover from the shock of my insubordinate comment, however, the mark flares to life once more.  This time the pain is so bad that my knees buckle—I hit the ground hard. 

Apparently, Cassandra has chosen to ignore my earlier comment because she kneels beside me and continues her monologue. “Each time the Breach expands, your mark spreads, and it is killing you…”

“You possess such tact…”

After a quick glare in my direction, she valiantly persists, “…It may be the key to stopping this, but there isn’t much time.”

“Of _course_ there isn’t. There’s always some kind of catch in these remarkably pleasant near-death situations, am I right?” I say with a nervous chuckle.

Another cold glare. I sigh again, simultaneously wondering how many more times I’ll moan in exhaustion before this day is over.

“Look, Cass…”

“You will address me as Seeker Pentaghast or the Right Hand of the Divine, not ‘Cass’.”

“Oh c’mon Ca…,” yet a fiercer glare than before, “…I mean Seeker…” I amend hurriedly, “…can’t you cut me some slack?!  I mean, it isn’t every day that I fall out of the _Fade_ with a fuckin’ _magical green mark_ on my _hand_! Don’t you think I _might_ need some time to adjust to this ridiculous situation?!”

Cassandra’s face softens slightly.  She hesitates, then helps me to my feet. “If you are innocent,” she begins harshly, “And I am not saying that I believe you are, then I am…truly sorry for what you have suffered.” She clears her throat uncomfortably at this proclamation, and I smile up at her.

“Does this mean I can call you Cass now?”

She turns toward me sharply. “Do not push your luck,” she says, tightening her renewed grip on my arm, though the corner of her mouth twitches suspiciously.

As she begins to move me further into Haven, I pause.

“Ca…Seeker, I just want you to know, I will help you close the Breach, whatever it takes. And not just because it’s killing me, though that _is_ reason number two on my ‘Reasons to Close the Breach’ list.  I want to help these people as much as you do, and I will prove it.” I say earnestly, praying she will believe me.

Almost smiling, Cassandra clears her throat (apparently a habit of hers) and motions for me to continue walking through the Village of Haven.


	2. An Unfortunate Circumstance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arya quickly discovers that "playing along" will not go as smoothly as planned.

All movement in the village comes to an abrupt halt as Cassandra guides me further down the path out of Haven. The people closest to me fall backward in fear, barely able to contain their terrified glances.  Some villagers merely stand there, mouths agape, not bothering to hide their stares. Most unsettling are the glares that come from those who mutter behind their hands, eyes narrowed and fists clenched in anger. A profound sadness emanates from their eyes and for a moment I can feel their loss acutely; death and despair seem to hang like cobwebs from this place.  A young woman close to the path glances in my direction as I approach the gates.  Even from this distance I can see that her face is prematurely lined, her auburn hair streaked liberally with silver. She can’t be more than twenty-five, I think sadly, as I offer her a small smile.

Her face instantly contorts with pure, unadulterated rage.

The woman screams in fury. “YOU! You killed my wife! I’ll KILL you!”

It takes several of her fellows to hold her back from throttling me, and she screams obscenities at them as well.

“LET GO OF ME, DAMMIT! Jason, Delilah help me _please_! Eric, you _bastard_!” Each word is punctuated with a kick in the direction of one of her captors.  

“YOU KNOW SHE IS GUILTY, WHY NOT KILL HER NOW?”

This last scream is directed at Cassandra, who promptly picks up the pace and tightens her grip on my arm. What before was mere muttering amongst the villagers rises to the point of shouting as Cassandra leads me out of Haven, and I briefly wonder if I will be the victim of a mobbing.  I look back in the direction of the flailing woman and find that she has collapsed into tears.

“They have decided your guilt,” Cassandra says softly. “They need it. We lash out like the sky, but we must think beyond ourselves—as Justinia did—until the Breach is sealed.

I have nothing to say to this; I am still in shock.  No one has ever wanted me dead before; this will take some getting used to. By the time I come out of my reverie, we have reached the bridge on the outskirts of Haven. Cassandra turns to me with a knife in hand and I am momentarily afraid before I remember what she is about to do. I hold out my hands for her to cut off the bindings and she hesitates.

“There will be a trial. I can promise no more,” she says warningly.

“I understand.” I say, nodding. I know that Cassandra is as good as her word and the knot of apprehension in my chest loosens somewhat as she removes my bindings. I rub my wrists absently, thinking.

“I suppose we go and find that rift now, yeah?” I ask.

Cassandra nods curtly and says, “Come. It is not far. You’re mark must be tested on something smaller than the Breach.”

As we cross the bridge and begin the walk toward the smaller rift, Cassandra turns to me.

“Where are you from? Your accent is…strange.”

 “The southern United States.” I say without hesitation.

“I beg your pardon?” Cassandra asks, her brow furrowed in confusion.

“I’m from the southern United States. You asked, didn’t you?” I frown wondering what has caused Cassandra to look at me like I’ve gone crazy when I realize I have just told her that I am from a place that she has never heard of. I rush to correct my mistake, trying to think of a likely city in Thedas which I could claim as my home.

“I meant to say _the southern United States_.” I say clearly. Cassandra frowns harder.

“ _The Southern United States_.” She repeats.

“Wait, that’s not what I meant to…let me try again. The _southern United States_. The _SOUTHERN_ United States. The southern United **States**. What is happening to me, dear GOD. THE SOUTHERN UNITED STATES.” I shout this last time, hoping I can change my answer to Denerim, Lothering, Honnleath, _anything_ that will not raise suspicion, but the words will not budge. It is as though they are stuck in my mouth.

“You have said that already.” Cassandra stops walking, clearly hoping I will collect myself before we press forward.

“I know what I said! I’m trying to say something _different_. Okay, hold on.” Why can’t I change my answer? What is going on? Can I not control what I say? Is magic at work?

 “We cannot afford to ‘hold on’,” Cassandra says sharply, thoroughly done with my ridiculous display.

“I know that! But this is important, too,” I say, pacing back and forth. “Okay, I have an idea. Quick, ask me something else. Something embarrassing.”

Cassandra makes a disgruntled noise and, seeing my look of desperation, rubs her temple.

“I do not see what purpose this will serve. We need to close the rift and decide on a course of action regarding the Breach. We do not have time for question games!” Cassandra says, fiddling agitatedly with her sword.

“Please, just humor me.”

She huffs again and then, apparently deciding to play along, asks, “Who was your first love?”

“Logan.” I reply, again without hesitation. “But that’s hardly an embarrassing question. I need you to ask me something that I would truly be embarrassed to tell you. I think…well, just ask me something personal?”

Cassandra contemplates for a moment and then, with a triumphant smile on her face, asks, “What is the most embarrassing thing you’ve ever done?”

“When I was a teenager, I poked something in a guy’s pants and asked him what it was. Found out later it was his penis.”

Again, I do not hesitate to answer although I can feel my face turning brick red; it is true agony. Cassandra, to her credit turns away at this to hide her own blush—and perhaps laugh where I cannot see her.  She clears her throat loudly.

“Well that is…you were young and…” she stammers.

“Oh god help me.” I whisper, mortified.

“Did that…did that help…whatever your problem was?” She asks, attempting to return the conversation to something less embarrassing for the both of us.

“What?” I ask, still horrified by my admission. And then I remember.

“Oh shit. Oh, fucking shit. Fucking shit balls. Fuck.” I am frantic now, my eyes wide with panic. I realize now why I couldn’t stick to the script earlier, why my responses come without hesitation, why the correct answer always seems to be stuck in my mouth whenever a question is asked.

“What is the matter?” asks Cassandra, a faint blush still on her chiseled features, though her eyes are full of concern.

“I can’t lie.”

* * *

“You cannot lie?” asks Cassandra, confused.

“It appears not.”

“But…how is that possible?” she asks, disbelief etched in her tone.

“I have absolutely no _fucking_ clue. But honestly, do you really think I would have told you that story if I could have stopped myself?!”

“Well…no. I suppose not. That _was_ rather…”

“Humiliating? Mortifying? Degrading? Yes, I remember, I was _there_ after all. The bigger question here is, ‘What are we going to do about this huge, gigantic fucking problem?!’” I am truly panicking now.  One wrong question and this whole timeline could go up in smoke. One revelation to the wrong person could literally bring Thedas to its knees. So much depends my capability to hold my tongue, yet I am faced with the incapacity to do so. Jesus _Christ_ , how the _hell_ am I going to work my way out of this one?!

“Why would telling the truth be a problem for you if you have nothing to hide?” asks Cassandra, the distrust from earlier present in her voice once again. Whether she asks a question to take advantage of my current predicament or just because she is curious, I don’t know.

“Because I know things I am not supposed to.” I answer automatically.

“What sort of things?” she asks, hand on the hilt of her sword.

“I know things that will happen in the future, and personal details about your life. I know who to trust, who to avoid, and who to watch. I know where to go, when to go, and how to accomplish my goals. I know…everything.” Again, I am helpless but to answer, and I almost regret telling her this more than I do my embarrassing penis-touching story. Almost.

“Preposterous.”

“Believe me, I feel the same way. Look, we can talk about this later, but right now we really need to get to that rift and help Solas and Varric with those demons before the mark…”

As if in reaction to my words, the mark flares to life for a third time, again bringing me to my knees.

“Okay, that really needs to stop. Preferably now. Or soon, soon is good too; I’m not picky, really.”

Cassandra’s eyes widen, both at the flare of the mark and at the mention of Solas and Varric, the beginnings of belief etched across her face. She offers me a hand up, which I gladly take.

“You _knew_ they were…”

“Yes, I knew,” I say, dusting myself off, “And trust me, I would have told you beforehand, but I didn’t think you would believe me.” Cassandra gives me a slightly affirmative nod of her head at this. “See? Exactly. I only kept my mouth shut because I am not a fan of ‘premature execution’, as Varric would say. I really didn’t want to keep anything from you. I’m sorry.” I say sheepishly, digging my boots into the snow at my feet.

Cassandra removes her hand from the sword hilt. “It might be against my better judgement but I…can’t help but believe you,” she’s says reluctantly.

My head shoots up. “Really?” I ask, disbelieving.

“Really,” she answers with a small smile.

“Well that’s a huge relief.  Here I was thinking I had just told my most embarrassing story to a woman who was going to chop my head off. That would have been a _terrible_ way to go.”

“Not as nearly as terrible as having to hear that story firsthand, I assure you,” says Cassandra, cheeks red again.

“You’ll have to tell me your most embarrassing moment later. You know, just so we’re even,” I say with a cheeky grin, to which Cassandra huffs in exasperation.

“Shall we proceed, then?” she asks impatiently.

“Yes, but it would be nice if you don’t ask any questions that you aren’t prepared to hear the answer to; for now. Just until we get this figured out. Oh, and try to stop the others from asking me questions. Trust me when I say that it will do more harm than good,” I say earnestly.

Cassandra nods once and motions for me to follow her down the path. I comply, wondering just how much more stressful this day could get.

* * *

“Wait!” I say, extending my arm out in front of Cassandra to stop her from crossing the second bridge.

“Why wait? You said it yourself, we must get to the rift as soon as…”

Before Cassandra can even finish her sentence, the bridge before us explodes in a haze of stone and green light. Cassandra’s eyes widen.

“Okay, now you can go,” I say, cheekily.

“This is not the time for jokes.”

“Oh, I completely disagree, Seeker. Times like these are what jokes were _made_ for.” I retort, almost seriously.

Cassandra huffs at this, rolling her eyes in my direction. Honestly, it’s worth threats of death and dismemberment just to see that look on her face. Grinning to myself, I jump down onto the ice from the bank above, careful not to slip on the slick surface.  Cassandra follows suit, looking around warily.

“You knew that bridge was going to explode?” She asks, though it’s more of a statement than a question.

“Yup,” I say cheerfully, “I also know that we will be attacked by demons from the right in about three, two…”

Right on cue, a shade appears from behind the stone rubble, it’s long, thin fingers clawing the air as though to rend the world apart.  Its face is waxen and disfigured beyond recognition save for a solitary eye, which roves the landscape unceasingly, searching for prey. Gaze finally landing on Cassandra and myself, it begins to move toward us, looking for all the world as though it is attempting to swim through the air.

“Stay behind me,” Cassandra hisses, readying her shield. She charges at the shade which ducks her swing, throwing her off balance.  Cassandra uses the momentum of her mistake to roll to the right, dodging the shade’s first strike easily and landing a blow of her own on its unsuspecting back. I am enraptured; despite my love off fantasy games and stories, I have never actually seen someone fight with a sword. Blade arching high above her head, Cassandra moves in to finish off the shade, looking every bit like a warrior princess of legend. I honestly feel privileged to watch her fight. The novelty of combat soon wears off, however, as I spot the telltale green light under the surface of the ice moving towards me, signaling the arrival of the second shade.  

“Shit.”

I begin to look around frantically, expecting to find a mage’s staff lying in wait for my apparently magical hands, when my eyes fall upon a bow and quiver.

“Oh, _hell_ yes! That’s what I’m _talking_ about! _Fuck_ yes!”

Magic might be foreign to me, but archery certainly is not. I strap the quiver along my back hurriedly as the shade draws closer, it’s lone eye spinning in dizzying circles. Though I haven’t shot a bow in years, I grip the wood as though it were yesterday and take aim. To my surprise, the arrow finds the shade’s eye, causing it to shriek in pain. From point-blank range, I drive another arrow into the place where it’s heart should have been. The shade gives an almighty screech and, claws raised in the air, dissolves into the fabric of the Veil.

“Well that was certainly too close for comfort.” I say as Cassandra approaches me again. She looks for a moment as though she is going to ask me to disarm. I chuckle quietly at the expression on her face; she is clearly torn between ill-advised trust and practicality.

“Really, Cass, you want me to disarm? After all we’ve been through? I’m shocked,” I say, hand pressed against my forehead in faux despair.

For one, glorious moment Cassandra looks as though she might laugh. Instead, she clears her throat and says, “I suppose you need a weapon.  It would not do for you to go unarmed and fall prey to a demon before we closed the breach. I should remember that you agreed to come willingly.”

“That is true, though I don’t blame you for being suspicious,” I counter as we begin walking down the frozen river, “though I’m not sure just how good with this bow I’ll actually be.  It’s been a long time since I picked one up.  Just don’t expect any grand displays of prowess from me, that’s all I ask.”

Cassandra frowns slightly. “If you would prefer another weapon, perhaps we could scavenge one on the way to the rift.”

“Oh, no, I much prefer a bow to a sword or daggers and I definitely prefer this to a staff.”

“But you are a mage, yes? Why are you uncomfortable with a staff?” she asks, uncertainly.

“Because I wasn’t a mage before today. Honestly, we’re lucky I have experience with a weapon at all, considering where I am from.”

 “Why would that matter? Surely even where you’re from people need to defend themselves?” Cassandra asks while avoiding a large crack in the ice.

“Let me put it this way; I come from a society where the power of a trebuchet can fit in your pocket. With power like that, finesse with a weapon is not needed.”

Cassandra has nothing to say to this, clearly thinking hard about how a trebuchet could even fit into a pocket. “And you were not a mage before today?”

“No,” I say with certainty as we round the corner of the river, “My world does not have magic.”

“You’re world? But how…”

Cassandra’s query is cut off sharply as we encounter the next wave of demons. Five pairs of ethereal eyes turn in our direction as Cassandra draws her sword and I ready my bow.

“I’ll aim for the wraiths on the outskirts of the group while I adjust to the feel of a bow again. Wouldn’t want you to end up as a pincushion, now would we?” I say jokingly, as the shades move closer.

“I appreciate your consideration,” Cassandra replies dryly before she charges at the nearest shade, sword drawn and shield raised high.

“Okay, let’s see if I can do this,” I mumble nervously, taking aim at the wraith to Cassandra’s left.  Again, to my great surprise, my arrow finds its mark, puncturing the wraith in its abdomen. However, instead of killing it, the arrow appears to have only pissed it off. It’s hollow eye sockets turn in my direction as I hastily ready another arrow. Before I can even draw my bow, the wraith looses a ball of energy, hitting me squarely in the chest. The feeling, like that of the mark when it flares, is one of electrocution, and I scream in pain. Before I can even comprehend my movements, I have shot the wraith a second time, my mark finally ringing true.  The wraith dissolves before my eyes in a flurry of fade particles, swirling in the cold mountain air.  I exhale sharply once the wraith dissipates, arms falling slackly downward and heart still hammering in my chest. Once I regain my composure, I raise my head to look for Cassandra, panicking slightly at the thought that she was left to finish the battle by herself. Predictably, Cassandra has already dispatched of the other four assailants without my assistance.

“Sorry,” I say, still wheezing from the wraith’s attack and clutching my side. “I’ve never encountered wraiths before. They are _incredibly_ unpleasant.”

“Quite,” replies Cassandra, looking me up and down. “Are you alright?”

“Oh, I’ll live,” I reply, somewhat strained. “I assume nothing hurt you? Of course not, what am I saying? You’re practically a force of nature all on your own.” Cassandra blushes slightly at this compliment.  It’s a good look for her, I decide; much less intimidating. It almost makes her seem like a real person and not a righteous Nevarran terminator. She clears her throat again and I grin mischievously, thinking how this tendency must be one of her tells in Wicked Grace. I make a mental note to tell Varric this later, once I finally meet him.

“What are you smiling at?”

“Oh, nothing. C’mon, we should get moving.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I will try to update weekly (at least). Thanks for reading!


	3. The Best Laid Plans

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arya makes a shocking discovery and is forced to give up some information.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this chapter was a bit late, I came down with some kind of bug. Hope you enjoy!

“So you say your world does not have magic?” Cassandra asks as she begins her ascent up the staircase to our left. It looks particularly daunting from this point of view. Dammit I _hate_ stairs.

“No, it doesn’t. If it does, I certainly haven’t seen it and I definitely didn’t practice it,” I answer, climbing the steps in her wake.

“I cannot imagine a world without magic,” Cassandra replies skeptically. “What about the darkspawn? Do they not have magic?”

“The world I am from does not have darkspawn or blights,” I say, now slightly out of breath from all the climbing. “Though we do have our fair share of war and sickness without their help.”

“Naturally. Death is universal,” Cassandra says almost sadly. “But how…”

“Cass, remember that thing I said about not asking questions you don’t want the answers to? Cause I’m starting to think I didn’t say it loud enough,” I quip, slightly amused.

“Of course, I…you are quite right. I must not let my curiosity distract us from our purpose,” she says as though scolding herself.

“Look, I really don’t mind the questions; they don’t offend me or anything. I just want you to keep that warning in mind. You might not like some of the things I have to say, and some of the things I know could prove dangerous should they come to light right now. But I will tell you everything I can later, provided it won’t cause more harm than good,” I say sincerely.

Cassandra nods in response to this, still looking doubtfully ahead. I wonder what I will have to tell her to convince her of my honesty; if I’ll ever truly have her trust. 

We have almost reached the top of the staircase when Cassandra draws her weapon, looking ahead determinately. “We’re getting close to the rift. Can you hear the fighting?”

“Yes,” I breathe, gripping my bow with sweaty palms. I am beyond nervous to face the people in the clearing ahead.  Cassandra is, in many ways, more intimidating than either Solas or Varric, but her steely demeanor and harsh words are no match for their cunning wit. Varric is a wordsmith, a master of his craft and Solas is the Trickster himself; hiding my knowledge from them will not be easy and everything hinges on my ability to do so. I take a deep breath, trying not to panic. Cassandra seems to sense my anxiety.

“I will do my best to stop them from asking too many questions, but we must not raise suspicion. You must have faith,” she says, clutching my shoulder in a supporting gesture.  I offer her a small smile in thanks and square my shoulders, moving toward the noises coming from the battle surrounding the rift.

“All right. Let’s do this,” I say and, without further ado, I take a running jump off the stone wall and into the fray of the battle below.

* * *

A few shades and one closed rift later and I am staring directly into Varric’s luscious and golden chest hair as he introduces himself.

“Varric Tethras: rogue, storyteller, and occasionally unwelcome tagalong.” With a wink at Cassandra that is received almost as well as my earlier jokes, Varric turns back to me, his arms open wide as though waiting for applause.

“VARRI…” I practically squeal in delight, catching my mistake only at the last moment. “…Y nice crossbow. Super cool, wow. Wish I had something like that,” I say, hoping that this will suffice as an explanation for my outburst. Fortunately for me, Varric is distracted by this flattery and turns to fawn over his most prized possession.

“Isn’t she? Bianca and I have been through a lot together,” Varric croons, looking at his crossbow as though he would very much like to have some time alone to _polish her gears_ , so to speak. I giggle at the look on his face, imagining all of that glorious chest hair tangled up in a bed with nothing but Bianca and some grease to keep him company. Strangely, the scene in my head would not be out of place in a romance novel, complete with a four-poster bed and red satin sheets.

“I still can’t believe you named it Bianca,” I say, still chuckling.

“Of course,” Varric replies with gusto, “and she’ll be great company in the Valley.”

“Absolutely not,” begins Cassandra, but I interject.

“C’mon Cass, who could possibly say no to a dwarf so charming handsome as this?” I ask with mock seriousness.

“I could. Easily,” replies the Seeker with disdain.

“Come now Seeker, you wound me,” says Varric, a hand on his magnificent chest hair in mock outrage.

As Cassandra walks away, grunting to herself, the figure to my right finally steps forward.

“My name is Solas, if there are to be introductions. I am pleased to see you still live,” Solas says cautiously, hands clasped and shoulders hunched. If I had not known the truth, I would have marked him as insignificant in the shadow of Cassandra and Varric, just another helpful hand. How well he plays his game, even now. Yet beneath the air of humility and destitution he has created, I can still sense immense power. His grey-blue eyes are too bright, too intelligent to belong to a simple hedge mage, his chin held too high.

“He means, ‘I kept that mark from killing you while you slept,’” Varric interjects, helpfully breaking me out of my reverie.

“What? Oh! Yeah thanks for that. I appreciate it,” I say, trying hard to keep the sarcasm out of my voice; I have a show to put on, after all. Solas frowns slightly at this, apparently not entirely convinced of my gratitude.

“Thank me if we manage to close the breach without killing you in the process,” he replies swiftly before turning to Cassandra.

“Cassandra, you should know: the magic involved here is unlike any I have seen,” Solas begins, and I laugh quietly to myself at this proclamation, knowing it to be completely false. Maybe I should start counting how many lies Solas tells just for fun. Solas stops talking at the sound of my snickering and turns in my direction, brows furrowed. I immediately avert my eyes from his, whistling innocently and bouncing on the balls of my feet.  Varric chuckles at this scene, leaning casually on his crossbow.

“You should watch yourself Freckles, our resident Fade expert doesn’t like to be interrupted,” he says to me in a stage whisper, a smile on his lips.

“How can you possibly already have a nickname for me?! You don’t even know my real name yet!” I say, almost exasperated.

“Too late for that now. You’re already Freckles to me, Freckles,” Varric replies smugly.

“Well I suppose I’ve been called worse things.”

Solas clears his throat loudly, looking pointedly in the direction of Varric and myself. Silence falls once again as he turns to resume his conversation with Cassandra.

“Your prisoner is a mage, but I find it difficult to imagine any mage having such power,” Solas continues, the ghost of annoyance still on his face. _Lie number 2…_

Cassandra looks between myself and Solas uncertainly before replying, “Understood. We must get to the forward camp quickly.”

Before she can move forward, however, Varric blocks her path.

“Hold on now Seeker, I think you’re forgetting something. Freckles here still hasn’t introduced herself. We don’t want to be rude now, do we?” He asks playfully, gesturing in my direction. Cassandra, though obviously annoyed by Varric’s attempt to waylay us, can’t help but look a bit curious herself. Three pairs of eyes turn in my direction and I clear my throat nervously.

“Arya. My name is Arya,” I say quickly, hoping that will satisfy their curiosity for the time being. I should have known that this would not be the case, especially considering that I am in the company of Varric-anything-for-a-story-Tethras.

“And does that have a last name to go with it, Freckles?”

“Yes,” I reply immediately, “I’m Arya…Arya…oh shit.” I can feel the blood draining from my face. I never stopped to consider…

“Ah yes, the Oh Shit clan; renowned for its glorious privies and innovative waste disposal methods. I wondered if they were in town.”

“Be QUIET dwarf! Arya, what is wrong?” Cassandra asks me sharply as I begin to properly examine my body for the first time since waking up in that dungeon. Everything seems to be the same proportionally; my arms and legs look as long and as thick as they did before this all began. My height doesn’t seem to have changed either, as I don’t feel too close to or too far from the ground. That rules out dwarf, I suppose.  I raise my hands to feel the top of my head for horns, only to come up empty. Not an Adaar, then.  That leaves only Trevelyan and…and… Slowly, I move my hands down from the top of my head to feel my ears.

They are pointed.

* * *

“An elf…I’m…an elf,” I mumble in horror, fingers not leaving the crest of my ears. “I’m actually an elf.”

“Did you not know?” Cassandra asks gently, placing a comforting hand on my shoulder.

“No, I had no idea. There was so much going on and I…I can’t believe this,” I whisper, terrified. If I have changed races, what else has changed? Do I even still look like myself? Dear God, who _am_ I?

Remembering suddenly that Cassandra and I are not alone, I look up sharply. Solas and Varric are staring in my direction, eyes wide and questions dancing on their tongues.  I am powerless to offer an explanation, still reeling from my recent revelation. Cassandra glances at me, as though waiting for permission. I nod silently, knowing that there is no choice now but to offer the other two an explanation.

“It seems,” begins Cassandra nervously, “that Arya is not from our world.”

Solas’ reaction is predictable; his eyes narrow suspiciously and his brow furrows in concentration as though he can will answers into existence. Varric, however, surprises me. He chuckles and, upon seeing the bemused look on my face, says, “Well I thought that much was obvious.”

All heads turn as Cassandra, Solas, and I look at him, startled. Varric chuckles again and elaborates. “Look, Freckles, I know you nearly shouted my name earlier. That, coupled with the fact that you’re larger than any elf I’ve ever seen—excluding Chuckles here—made it pretty easy to guess that you’re not from around here.”

An uneasy silence greets Varric’s words, made no less intense by Solas persistently glaring in my direction. I wring my hands nervously, wondering how much I will have to reveal in order to appease my audience. Varric’s voice pierces my nervous thoughts. “So tell us, Freckles, how did you know who I was?” Varric asks and, though he attempts to sound casual, I can hear the caution behind the question.

“I’ve known you since you first met Hawke in Kirkwall,” I say, resigned to the fact that I cannot hide the truth from him. This statement, unlike the previous one, does surprise him, his jaw falling open in shock. “How could you possibly…”

“I know your whole story Varric, from the point you met Hawke onward; though I’m not sure if I know the truth or merely the version you told Cassandra when she interrogated you,” I say thoughtfully, picking at my sleeve.

“That is highly improbable,” Solas interjects, hands clasped behind his back. “I have never heard of such magic.” The look on his face is so smug that I can’t resist letting a bit of my knowledge show.

“Is that so, _Pride_?” I say, attempting a conversational tone though my eyes narrow in his direction. Solas pales slightly at the translation of his name. “And how is your friend Wisdom these days?” At the mention of his friend Solas turns, if possible, even paler. He opens and closes his mouth like a fish out of water several times before finally muttering, “I did say improbable, not impossible.”

“So you did,” I reply, momentarily pleased with my victory.

“Wait, so let me get this straight; you not only know stuff about me, but stuff about Chuckles too?” asks Varric, looking thoroughly bewildered.

“Yep,” I reply, careful not to look at Solas. He would be a fool to question me in front of Cassandra and Varric, but I can see that he desperately wants to. I must be careful not to let him corner me before I can decide what to do about him.

“Well…shit,” Varric says, somehow looking both embarrassed and amused. “Just so you know, that night in Rivain with the nug and the cheese wheel was not my idea. I was merely the victim of an unfortunate bet.” Cassandra grunts and rolls her eyes at this while I laugh, some of the weight lifting off my chest.

“Unfortunately, I was not privy to that specific night of revelry,” I say, still chuckling. “Although, I kinda wish I had been.”

“Buy me a pint later, Freckles, and I’ll tell you all about it,” replies Varric, mirroring my smile.

“If you two are quite finished, I suggest we keep moving,” Cassandra interjects rather sharply, already starting in the direction of the forward camp.

“I guess we’d better follow her, Varric. I, for one, would like for my appendages to stay exactly where they are,” I quip, cutting my eyes in Cassandra’s direction to make sure she didn’t hear me.

“Fair point, Freckles. Fair point. You coming, Chuckles? Wouldn’t want you to miss all the fun!” Varric shouts back at Solas, already several paces in front of us. I glance at Solas and smile slightly, jerking my head in the direction of Varric and Cassandra.

“Should we get going then?”

“Yes. No need for us to, what was the phrase? ‘Miss all the fun?’” Solas replies dryly, though his eyes betray his amusement with the dwarf.  Chuckling to myself, I move to follow Varric’s trail, Solas falling in step beside me. We walk in respectful, if tense, silence for a few minutes, listening to Cassandra and Varric bickering several paces ahead, before I remember that I am finally in the presence of someone who can answer some questions of my own.

“Solas, can I ask you something?”

“Are you sure you would not prefer to tell me what I am going to say, as omniscient as you clearly are?” He replies tersely.

“Oh, well excuse me _hahren_.  I had no idea you had such faith in my god-like powers. I shall endeavor to be more worthy of your praise in the future,” I say sarcastically, with a mock bow in his direction. Solas’ brows furrow at my insolence, though the chastising effect is ruined somewhat by the twitching at the corner of his mouth. I am under the impression that, rather than collecting his ire, my witty remarks are earning me some form of respect.  I grin to myself; it is so very like Solas to respect those who challenge him in return rather than complacently observe.

“Very well, _da’len_ , what would you ask of me?” Solas finally asks, the corners of his mouth still twitching.

“Okay, well you know I’m not from this world, right?” Solas nods in affirmation, urging me to continue.

“Well I suppose I’m curious about…about magic,” I say tentatively. Solas’ brows contract in confusion.

“Surely you know the basics by now. Even at your, ah, _young age_ , I would have expected at least some form of competence,” replies Solas slyly, cutting his eyes in my direction. I resist the urge to blow a raspberry in his face, but only just. As it is, I can’t help but shoot him a glare, eyes narrowed and arms crossed.

“Perhaps your memory is failing due to your, ah, _old age_ , if you have already forgotten that my circumstances are unique in that regard,” I quip back, feigning nonchalance.

“Ah yes. How could I forget? My apologies,” Solas says with the faintest hint of sarcasm.

“You’re going to be impossible, aren’t you?” I ask, completely abandoning our informal battle of wits. Solas smirks at this surrender, eyes alight with mischief.

“Ir abelas, Arya. What would you know of me?” He concedes, the ghost of a smile still on his face.

“Well, first off, do you know how to dispel magic?” I ask curiously, looking in his direction. After he nods in confirmation, I continue along my line of thought.

“Okay, good. That’s good. And, would you mind using it on me if I ever show signs of magic?” I ask uncomfortably, biting my lip.

“Why would I need to…” begins Solas warily, but I interrupt him.

“C’mon Solas, don’t play dumb. I know you can tell that my magic is unstable. As you’ve probably already guessed, I don’t even come from a world with magic. Look, I just…” I take a deep breath and continue, “…I just want to make sure no one is going to get hurt because of me. Can you at least…I don’t know, keep an eye on me? Until I get some form of training?” I ask desperately. Solas looks at me hard for a moment and then nods his head resignedly. I let out a breath I hadn’t realized I had been holding.

“Thank you,” I say sincerely. “I would much rather you dispel my magic than rely on Cassandra to smite me. That sounds unnecessarily painful,” I explain, half joking.

“It truly is, though I do wonder how you know so much about it if you do not have magic in your world,” he replies, his tone light and casual but his eyes dancing with unasked questions.

“How indeed?” I reply slyly. “That, my dear apostate, is a question for after we close the rift.”

With a mischievous wink in his direction, I turn my back on a bemused and slightly pink Solas, lengthening my stride to catch up with Varric and Cassandra.


End file.
